


Casual Encounters

by SharpestScalpel



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Charles You Slut, Charles really is selfish, Comment Fic, Erik is a nervous darling, F/M, M/M, Multi, age gap, not edited, power disparity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 08:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestScalpel/pseuds/SharpestScalpel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles is a busy professor in his 30s - busy enough that a craigslist casual encounter is really the only way he's going to get laid any time soon. </p>
<p>Erik is a 19-year-old virgin with an internet connection and no social skills.</p>
<p>I think you see where this is going.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Casual Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> This was really just a tiny comment fill. Then it... grew. It wasn't written in chronological order - and it isn't presented in chronological order here. 
> 
> This isn't anything polished - I might revisit it at some point.

***

The kid is panting, lips wet with spit and eyes blown open with something like shock, and he's still muttering apologies - "Sorry, didn't mean, I didn't, sorry..." And Charles can only shake his head in response, smooth his hands down Erik's quivering abdomen.

"You said twice," Charles reminds him, keeping up the soothing contact as he guides Erik down onto the bed. He wonders if this is the first time Erik's ever come with anyone, if there hasn't even been furtive handjobs traded in the backs of cars for this rangy, elegant youth. It's too personal a question, he thinks, even though Erik is naked as anything and sprawling back on Charles's cool cotton pillows. 

The line of Erik's jaw should make him look older - but the wideness of his eyes and the soft hollows of his throat undermine it all, make Charles glad he checked Erik's ID at the door. Erik's eyes flutter closed and his lashes - Charles has a ridiculous urge to touch the fan of them with his fingertips, the lightest touch he can manage. 

"Twice - I can do that." Erik blinks his way to calmness, grey-green beach-glass gaze settling at the same rate his breathing does. "Maybe one more after that." 

The flirtation startles a pleased laugh out of Charles - he breaks away from the contact, strips off his own clothes, folds them neatly and puts them on the chair in the corner. "There are," he says though he thinks he probably should not, "certain advantages to being nineteen."

***

Erik stares at his computer screen. It's a Thursday night, and he has class in the morning; he should be studying. He should be reviewing class notes. He should be doing anything other than scanning the casual encounters area of craigslist.

But - and Erik hates to admit it to himself almost as much as he hates to admit it to the therapist he's seeing down at the health center - it's Thursday night and Erik is lonely.

Pittsburgh seems too far away, especially with no one there to make it feel like home anymore.

He's never even kissed anyone, nothing beyond the childish kisses any kid might give their parent when they leave for work, expecting to come home safely even though they won't.

Erik attaches his photo from the school directory and rereads his email, just in case he's forgotten any commas. He clicks send.

And then Erik goes back to his books. It's a Thursday night. There's nothing and no one else for him.

***

He doesn't have time for this - a stack of papers, none of them any better than adequate. His own research needs his attention, of course, and the article he's working on is only half finished. He could hand it off to Hank but it seems vaguely unethical to have his TA draft things like this for him.

But it's been six months, easily, since he's done more than jerk off in the shower in the morning. It isn't that he doesn't like sex - sex is awesome and he doesn't turn it down when it's available. It's just that he's hardly left the apartment for anything other than work - the lab results have been more interesting than sweaty strangers in bars.

Sweaty strangers in bars have their charms, but Charles isn't a slave to his urges.

Usually.

There's a buzzing under his skin though, too much awareness of how his trousers sit on his hips, too much sensation in the way his shoes hold his feet. He needs to get laid.

Craigslist. He's used the casual encounters section before, found casual hookups in different cities, traveling for conferences. There's always chaff to sort through. 

There have been some gems though. Charles starts typing.

***

Charles thinks this may be better than the night in Atlanta - the twins had been rougher then he really preferred. But Aaron had been so tight. And Amos had bern so thick and hard. Who didn't like sandwiches?

But Erik is still trembling, even as he thrusts against Charles's hip. It's so sweet and Charles doesn't usually go for sweet anymore than he cares for the really rough stuff. He sucks on Erik's collarbone, darkens the mark he's leaving there. It'll sting in the morning.

”Do you want me to suck you off?” Erik gasps it, looks up at the ceiling before glancing at Charles. There's a red flush all down his throat. ”I bet I could do that.”

If Charles believed in God, he'd think God loved him. 

”Just watch your teeth.” Charles rolls to his back, spreads his legs to make room for Erik's gangly body. The kid looks like he needs to eat more. It'd be easier for Erik, probably, if Charles moved to the edge of the bed, let Eric kneel at his feet. Better angle for beginners, more control.

Charles stays where he is.

Erik leans over, balances on one elbow, takes Charles's cock in his free hand. He has large hands - big palms with long fingers. His grip is light, curious. He rubs his thumb around, teases at Charles's foreskin like he's never seen one before.

On second thought, Charles realizes, he probably hasn't. ”Run your tongue under it.”

Erik bends his head.

***

Erik is tight around Charles's finger. One finger, just to the second knuckle. 

Charles is focused, sitting, straddling the back of Erik's thighs. He has one hand at the small of Erik's back, the long, slow arch of it like a wave breaking on untouched sand. His other hand is wedged low between Erik's thighs, pinky extended to rub at the tender skin of Erik's perineum.

He'd thought it would be a fast and easy fuck. But Erik is whimpering, voice broken, breathing harsh and quick. The whine at the back of Erik's mouth is worth slowing down for. 

Virgins, Charles decides, are more fun than he realized.

He crooks his finger, pulls it out and reaches for the tube of lube next to his leg on the bed cover. ”I'm going to fuck you.” Just in case it wasn't obvious. ”Tell me if you think you're going to come.” 

Erik scrambles to grip the sheets, crushes the crisp fabric in the curl of his fist. ”I could go a third time. I could.”

Charles certainly hopes so.

***

He can leave at any point, Erik reminds himself. Putting on his shrunk-in-the-wash tightest, oldest jeans because Emma says they make his ass look hot isn't any sort of promise. Spending the cab fare doesn't mean he's committed to anything. Walking up the sidewalk doesn't mean he's going to let a stranger fuck him. 

Knocking on the door doesn't mean he owes this guy anything.

Erik knocks on the door in front of him - it's a nice door, solid construction. Not hollow like the doors in his dorm.

Sounds won't carry well past a door like that, Erik thinks. He stifles a choked laugh. Just in time, because the door opens and whatever Erik was expecting, it wasn't this guy, this professorish man who can't be much more than 30 with floppy hair straight out of a British rom com and a red mouth. Erik only realizes he's starting when the mouth tightens, frowns before speaking.

”May I see your identification, please?” The guy has a soft British accent to go with his hair. Erik likes the sound of it.

He fumbles in his pocket for his wallet, digs out his license. Hands it over - his hand only shakes a little. 

The man - the man Erik has met via craigslist and to whom he has offered his virginity in exchange for some company - takes the ID and studies it. ”Erik Lensherr. I'm Charles.”

Charles checked his birthdate - for some reason that calms Erik's nerves. He hadn't promised anyone anything - not even himself. He smiles, steps through the open door.

***

When he'd sat down to type up his little advertisement, this was more along the lines of what Charles thought he'd get - fingers up his ass, stretching him, making him feel the burn of it because it's been too long and he's so eager for it he can taste hot saliva under his tongue. And he's not complaining. He's never going to complain about the way Erik had squirmed and writhed under him, pushed back against his cock like his body had no idea what to do with the sensation.

But Erik is going to be as thoroughly debauched an ex virgin as Charles can manage. And now that Erik is hard for a third time, after a snack and a little time to calm down, Charles is confident the kid will last long enough for Charles to get off a second time, too.

He's mostly too lazy, honestly, to put in the effort to come twice in one night these days - Charles has no trouble admitting it to himself. He's busy and a little self-centered and he likes to be left alone after his orgasm so he can snuggle up under the covers and go to sleep. But by the time Charles had pulled out of Erik's ass to come all over the unmarked skin of his back, Erik had been near to hyperventilating - and Charles isn't a monster. Perhaps he'd been a bit too focused on hitting Erik's prostate - Erik had keened and clenched tight every single time Charles had brushed past it. 

It was possible it had been a bit overwhelming for someone who'd never had anything but his own fingers up there. If Erik had even done that. Charles hadn't asked.

The fingers prepping him are his own, and Erik is watching, eyes just a little narrow, just a little wary. "Sometimes I do like the sensation of no preparation at all - but that seems a little unwise at the moment." Charles can't help the way his eyes flicker to Erik's cock - quite impressive, especially on such a thin body. It's another body part the kid needs to finish growing into, like the width of his shoulders and the length of his thighs.

He's going to be an intimidating man, Charles thinks - but he rather likes Erik like this. Unsure, surprised, shocked by his own capacity for pleasure.

"Give me your fingers." Charles is being responsible. Someday this kid is going to be fighting off lovers with a stick and they'll all have Charles to thank for indoctrinating him properly. He coats Erik's index and middle fingers with lube. "Put one of them in me, just one to start." He moves his own fingers and grunts at the sensation, eager for more.

***

Erik thinks the lunch meat has probably gone off - it feels just a little slimy. But he's hungry and he can't stop shaking and the last thing he wants to do is go into shock or something just because he's finally gotten fucked. 

His ass feels open and strange, the memory of being filled a pressure in its own right. He's just so aware of it, in a way he's never been before, not even the mornings after he's slipped just the tip of one finger inside himself - even though those are the mornings he inevitably feels both guilty and ashamed. Not because he liked it, but because he couldn't imagine ever being able to do it with another person, because he didn't think it would be easy to be naked and vulnerable with someone else.

It's easy enough to be naked with Charles. It's easy to let the older man tell him what to do. "Run your tongue under it," Charles had said, and Erik had bent his head to lap at the head of Charles's hard cock, had used his thumb to bunch up Charles's foreskin until he could get the tip of his tongue under the soft skin. Charles had moaned at that - and Erik had felt proud, like he'd done something special.

He'd liked the taste. Liked the power to make Charles gasp out his name in praise. He'd liked the firm hand in his hair, guiding his efforts.

"Here, eat this instead." Charles is taking the questionable turkey from Erik's unsteady fingers. He passes Erik an American cheese slice still in its plastic wrapper. He's never actually eaten one. His mother had kept a kosher kitchen, even with his father's apathy and Erik's own teenaged rebelliousness. Erik crinkles the wrapper as he opens the cheese slice. He'd done a lot of things his mother wouldn't approve of - this whole encounter would probably top that list - so a slice of cheese.... 

Erik still can't bring himself to eat pork in the dining hall. The smell of it makes him a little sick.

"Are you going to be all right?" Charles tosses the lunch meat into the trash can and leans on the kitchen island, a tumbler of amber liquid that he hasn't offered to Erik in his hand. 

Scotch, Erik thinks. Or some other kind of whiskey. He's passed cheap bottles around with a few other engineering students. He suspects this is a much higher quality - Charles hardly seems the type to enjoy the eye-watering burn of the cheap stuff Janos sneaks in. 

But Charles is paused, the glass halfway to his lips, his eyebrow raised as he waits for an answer. Erik feels the blush spread fast across his face and ducks his head. "Yeah, sorry. I just..." Wasn't expecting to be burnt so wide open. Wasn't expecting to cry into the pillow because it felt so good. Wasn't expecting to come without being touched, to come so hard it felt like he'd sprained something deep in his groin. "I just needed to eat something."

Charles nods, sips his drink, and points at the glass of juice on the counter in front of Erik. He doesn't say a word.

***

"Can you just--" Erik is shifting, bending and twisting a little bit where Charles is straddling his thighs. "Wait, please." 

Charles stops what he's doing - he's been trying to find the right way to approach the initial penetration, the proper angle; he's been rubbing the slick, condom-covered head of Erik's cock against his hole - and looks up at Erik's face. "Of course."

There have been little moments like this - little moments of nervous hesitation. And Charles has stopped each time, has done something without even being asked for it that reassures Erik, that makes it not only okay to go forward, but imperative that they keep going, keep doing whatever it was Charles had them doing.

Erik takes a couple of shuddering breaths, flexes his fingers against Charles's thighs. They're nice thighs, he thinks. A little thin, but solid enough - the legs of a man who lives in a walking city but who doesn't spend a lot of time in the gym. The hair on them is soft and fine and Erik likes petting it. He focuses on that, ignores the quizzical look on Charles's face as he remains, still and steady, holding Erik in place because Erik hasn't asked to be let go.

It's actually a little terrifying - Charles had split him open and made him see stars and now Charles is going to ride him and Erik doesn't know how he's going to survive the inevitable orgasm. He's going to die. He's going to come for the third time in as many hours and then he's going to stop breathing and die because that's the only option when something feels so good.

He settles himself - because all of that is just ridiculous. He can't actually die from sex. No one's every really died of coming too hard - it'd be all over the internet if it were true. And Erik might not be as good at navigating the filthy underbelly of the internet as Janos but he's getting better at it.

The sheets are rumpled; Erik bends his knees and settles the bottoms of his feet against the cool fabric, feels the slide of it and looks back up at Charles with a smile. "Okay - I'm, I'm good."

"You really rather are." Charles returns to his task.

***

It isn't that he hates teaching freshmen - Charles is many things but realistic is sometimes one of those things and he knows he doesn't have the seniority to get out of freshmen biology just yet. It's just... they're all there to fulfill the general ed requirement. So only about four out of the 250 of them are there because they want to be.

Still, it could be worse - it could be an early morning class. Charles has his lecture notes and his coffee, so he counts himself prepared. 

There are latecomers, there always are, but Charles ignores them as he starts into his first-day-of-class opening routine. He scans the crowd, starting at the back, which is rapidly filling - they look younger to Charles every single term.

And then he almost chokes on his coffee. Erik. Erik Lensherr is sitting front row center in his intro to bio class and Charles is not nearly drunk enough - isn't drunk in the slightest - to deal with this. Erik looks just as thin, just as slightly ragged around the edges from not enough something - but as the kid looks up into the silence that has filled the lecture hall, Charles thinks he looks a little more comfortable in his skin, too. 

That's something be proud of, at least. And then Charles really does want a drink because, Christ and everything else, he's feeling proud of how well he despoiled a student, a student who is currently in his class. The ethics board would have a field day.

There's a muttering moving over the class - Charles has to pull himself together, get things back on track. He tears his gaze away, looks back at his notes, and starts back up again, where he thinks he left off in his routine. Class attendance counts, mid-term, final, randomly administered quizzes. Lab work. Required texts.

He's done the first-day-of-class thing often enough now to have timed things right. It's a 45-minute lecture, there are never any questions, and they all feel fortunate to be released five minutes early. Charles dares a look back at the front row. Erik isn't staring, hasn't made eye contact once. But he's packing up his laptop very slowly, and he isn't getting up to rush out of the room.

Moira had dragged Charles to a yoga class once. The bending had been ludicrous but the breathing - Charles tries to remember what they'd said about breathing. He'd really rather not have to explain casual encounters to his dean.

"Do I need to drop the class?" Erik's voice is soft - it'd been soft like that as he'd thanked Charles, thanked Charles like Charles hadn't owed him a million thank yous - but he doesn't sound angry or upset. Just curious.

Charles speaks without thinking, his surprise overtaking his concern for his career. "Why would you need to?" Does Erik think Charles will demand sex? Try to trade grades for sex? He'd be insulted but Erik doesn't know him, only knows him as a taker of virginity via craigslist.

One question is answered - despite being thoroughly fucked and then ridden hard, Erik can still blush, bright and rosy and utterly charming. "I, um," he stutters a little bit, then squares his shoulders. "Well, I'd need to drop the class if you wanted to have dinner sometime. Or something." It's almost a casual line, but the way Erik's fingers grip the strap of his backpack give lie to it - he's asking for something because he wants it but it's scaring him to do it.

Charles gapes at him. He'd hurried Erik out of his apartment, tired and a little grouchy because he'd still had papers to grade and all he really wanted was to go to take a shower and go to sleep. It wasn't until the door slammed closed that Charles realized - he'd never kissed Erik.

The thought had been inescapable for days afterwards. Erik had been untouched and Charles hadn't even kissed him. 

He studies the boy before him - there's a gulf between them. Not just age. But he's curious now, and - because he's honest with himself - it's still irresistible to think of touching Erik, teaching him exactly what Charles likes. 

"There's another section with McTaggert. Tell her I sent you, she'll let you in." Charles nods, flips over the last page of his printed out notes. He writes down his phone number. "Go to the registrar - and then give me a call."

Their fingers brush against each other - it can't be an accident - when Erik reaches for the paper. He's got a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, something young and proud and Charles wants to wipe it away, replace it with the shape of Erik begging underneath him. Erik nods, folds the paper up and then tucks it into the pocket of his jeans.

Charles watches him walk away. And smiles. He can feel that buzzing under his skin again.

***

Erik hadn't planned for the evening to go quite this way, hadn't planned to drop to his knees as soon as the door closed behind him after a dinner full of innuendo and touches that can't have been accidental. But it seems like the right thing to do, to crowd Charles back against the door and slither down his body so he can watch his own hands, up close and personal, as he works at Charles's belt, tugs down his trousers and his boxers, pulls out Charles's cock - the memory of which he's been jerking off to for months.

"Erik, oh, for fuck's sake, hold on." Charles pulls at his hair and Erik doesn't want to stop - but Charles has stopped every time Erik asked, had even told Erik that night that he'd stop at any point if Erik wanted him to. Erik has to stop, too. He leans his forehead against the inside of Charles's thigh and pants for a few breaths, then shuffles back, still on his knees.

Charles slides down the wall and ends with his legs sticking out straight in front of him and his back firm against the wall. "Come here." He reaches for Erik's shirt, bunches up the front of Erik's best button-down in his fist, and uses the leverage to haul Erik forward. "You are a ridiculous creature." 

There's no way to take it as an insult when Charles is breathing over Erik's lips, licking out to taste the seam of Erik's mouth.

It wasn't like there weren't other ads on craigslist. But Erik hadn't done anything more than look at them. He wasn't as lonely as he'd been. He knew what being wanted felt like. His therapist down at the health center is worried - Erik can tell because the woman has told him time after time that they have resources for depressed students - and Erik isn't naive enough to think things will be easy. They might not even last a month. But for the moment, for as many moments as he can imagine after this, Erik doesn't feel lonely and that's really enough for him.

He parts his lips, let's Charles dip his tongue in for a taste.

***

This is where Intro and I chatted for a bit and I basically once-upon-a-timed a whole bunch of the interim stuff that happens to Charles and Erik - and a few of their friends.

***

Janos cannot believe that this is happening. The entire universe loathes him. He is a worm. A lowly crawling thing in the mud. He'd called Erik because he couldn't face the empty apartment he'd shared with Az anymore; they'd played video games and Erik had been kind enough to ignore when Janos's eyes glistened.

But now it's 2am and Janos is wide away. And there are noises from down the hallway. Charles Xavier has a very nice apartment, but it's not so large as all that, not large enough that two people can have loud and energetic sex in a room right there without someone in the living room hearing almost all of it.

Janos would not have anticipated that Charles was so... vocal. It's not surprising that Erik is, though. It's always the quiet ones.

It would serve them right if he jerked off on their couch. He considers it, even reaches a hand into his pants - but then he thinks about how funny Az would find the whole situation and he just can't bring himself to do it.

They have stamina, those two. 

He sighs, pulls the blanket tighter up under his chin, and tries to sleep without tearing up again.

***

"When did you start running a youth hostel?" The voice in the kitchen is familiar - Janos recognizes it from one of the few parties Erik and Charles have thrown together. One of Charles's friends - Martha or Mothra - no, that was a movie monster. Moira. 

She was a professor. She had given Erik the only B grade of his entire undergrad career. Janos knows this because Erik had been livid. Mostly with himself - he'd been apathetic about biology and distracted by his new relationship with Charles. Janos had laughed. 

He stumbles into the kitchen, hair every which way and shirt rumpled - but at least his jeans are done up. He'd checked.

"Morning. Sleep well?" Charles is bright red and Janos can only raise an eyebrow - there are fresh bright hickeys on Erik's neck above the collar. 

"I guess." He shuffles to the coffee machine and takes the mug that Erik offers him. He takes his coffee black - and while it often baffles him what Erik sees in Charles, the man does have good coffee.

He turns and leans back against the counter, savors the brew. Moira. She's at the kitchen table. And now he remembers more about her. Nice legs. Wicked sharp sense of humor. She'd smelled good, too - he didn't know what perfume she wore but it had drifted up his nose the night of that party.

It's been a few years - Moira isn't wearing a wedding ring anymore. There's probably a story there but Janos isn't going to ask about it, especially not this morning. 

"If it was a hostel, there'd be rules about loud sex when people are trying to sleep." Janos glares, but only a little bit. It's nice that Erik and Charles are still so in love.

Though neither of them have called it that to him - he can still recognize it.

Moira snorts. And then she laughs. And then she smiles at him. And Janos... feels like smiling back.

***

The door closes behind Erik and Charles turns back to Raven with a smile - as cliched and awful as it is, it's true: he hates to see Erik go but he does indeed love to watch him leave. But the smile drops off his face when he actually focuses on Raven. She's frowning. No, she's glaring.

It makes him want for something to cover his head. 

"Oh my god, Charles. He's, like, three years younger than me." She's whispering - a sure sign that she's livid and trying to keep control of herself. Charles appreciates the effort. "What are you even doing?" She holds up a finger before Charles can open his mouth. "And if you say the obvious, that you're doing him, I will punch you in the face."

Charles snaps his mouth closed. Raven hits with both force and follow-through. "Raven, I'd never be so crass." He would. Just not to her. Erik seemed to like it. "Yes, he's nineteen, and I don't know. I just like him."

It's flimsy. Not his strongest argument. Raven buries her head in her crossed arms on the table. "What am I going to do with you, oh my god?" She moans it into the high gloss of the wooden surface.

Charles shrugs. "What you've always done, I suspect. Yell at me a bit, and then carry on as usual." He hopes that was the plan, anyway. Charles has never been with anyone he'd risk his sister's wrath for... but he rather thinks Erik might be worth that sort of thing.

***

Moira is 12 years older than Janos. It shows when they talk about their childhoods, about cartoons and some of the books they'd read growing up. But that would be different anyway, Janos thinks - he grew up in Spain with his mother and his sister and that was a world away from Moira's Midwestern American upbringing with her Scottish parents.

But he honestly doesn't care about any of that. 

Because Moira wraps her legs around his waist when he's on top and tells him: harder, jesus, harder, more.

He obliges her.

Janos loves the bite of her nails in the skin of his back. He loves the way she tries to suck on his neck, tries to mark him that way but always winds up biting, lower down on the muscle of his shoulder, when she comes around him. He loves the way, when he goes down on her, eats her for as long as she'll let him, she grabs fistfuls of his hair and isn't afraid to pull it because he's told her how much he likes that.

He'd thought it would be strange to be with a woman again. He'd had girlfriends in high school, especially when his family had moved to Washington, D.C., when he was 16. His accent had made him a target for some people - but very popular with other people. He'd fumbled with them, come too fast and not been very good at making his partner come and made about as much of a mess of things as any 16-year-old boy could. Though he'd never gotten anyone pregnant. Though, in hindsight, it's a wonder he didn't manage it. Hormones made people stupid.

Az had swept into his life freshman year and Janos had fallen hard. He'd thought that was it, the love of his life. He'd felt lucky to find it so soon.

Enough time has passed, now, that he can look back on it with fondness. The relationship had been amazing. Janos has no regrets, even though the end of it had been so painful.

"Where'd you go, baby?" Moira taps him on the cheek, her fingernail just a little sharp. 

He's not embarrassed - he's not as urgently focused on his own orgasm as he used to be. It's a different sort of reward to make Moira lose it, spasm around him. He can't honestly say it's better but he's addicted to it now. He likes the sting and ache in his shoulder, he likes the constant bruise there even if he can't wear tank tops anymore without earning amused commentary from Erik.

"I was thinking about the way you taste." He leans down and kisses her collarbone, then rolls so that she can sit astride him, set her own pace. "And the way you smell." He tips his head back into the pillow when she takes him deep, flexes her thighs where they spread around his hips.

***

She laughs, because Janos makes her laugh all the time. Laughing is easy with him and she never has to worry he's going to take it the wrong way. 

It's easy to be with him. Janos doesn't ask about Joe, but he doesn't expect her to forget him either. He doesn't want her to mother him - she's met those guys. But he isn't bothered when she wants to take care of him, either. 

He lets her brush his hair. 

In return, she tells him all the things she'd been too young to admit to Joe about sex. How she likes to be on top, grinding down slow so that she can push her clit against the hard line of his pubic bone. How she likes being tied up to her bedframe, free to thrash around as much as she wants because she isn't going to get free. How she wants to try anal sex but she's afraid it will hurt - though that might not be so bad either.

She tells him, and he listens. It feels like she's doing something wrong the first time they talk about it, but he doesn't care - he lends her his own lack of shame. 

He's sprawled underneath her now, looking thoughtful and still far too young (she'd given Charles so much shit for that when he'd first hooked up with Erik but look at how long they've been together). And she has to lean down to kiss him.


End file.
